Broken
by Kitty Daniels
Summary: "Hands used to cradling the necks of Shenandoah Straight bottles and being balled into enraged fists were now shaking as he unsteadily but gently tied the dressing off." Oneshot.


_**Oh wow, it's been a reeeeeally long time since I've posted anything here, and quite honestly, I'm still technically in a fanfic rut. I just had to write something to temporarily break the block. -_- This is another excuse for me to go personality-diving on Daniels because I just can't get enough of exploring his character (and for this particular story, his friendship with Burns and his concern over his injuries). Chronologically, this would be considered an immediate precursor to my other story,**_ **Exquisite Horrors of Reality.** _**Also vaguely references another fic of mine,**_ **The One Who Stays** _ **.**_

 _ **I have to give some credit to a few writers on here for lifting my motivation just a little to start writing again. :) I've been having such awesome conversations about the Americans with them that there was no way I could NOT write another fic. Oh, and of course, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!**_

 _ **Daniels & Burns (c) Stephen Sommers**_

 **Broken**

The soul seemed gone.

He knew it was still there, didn't doubt its spiritual presence. Without eyes though, there was no window, no physical realm into which he could reassure himself that it hadn't fled for good. They had become two inescapable voids, threatening to suck out the very soul within himself. He shivered visibly when Burns turned his raw, vacant orbitals on him, pleading with him silently to grasp his hand tighter as he was led carefully back to his quarters inside the hotel of the sprawling Cairo fort.

His heart thumped hard in his chest, his complexion taking on an unnaturally ashen-white pallor. For all the organic horror that it represented to him, Daniels couldn't get himself to stop staring into the lifeless eye sockets of his disfigured friend.

He knew it to be rude; he was not naïve in thinking Burns couldn't feel his guilty gaze boring a hole into him. He was sure though that Burns preferred his silent nonchalance over the not-so-subtle gawks of the hotel patrons, arching and craning their necks through tendrils of cigar smoke and cheap Houbigant perfume and whispering amongst themselves unwanted platitudes of disgust and sympathy for the poor man with no eyes and no tongue.

His chest tightened, the scream constricting his tar-gummed lungs. _Oh go boil yer shirts the lot of ya! Ya'll act like ya ain't ever seen an injured man before._ Daniels snarled and growled angrily at anyone who was unfortunate enough to meet his steel-blue glare as they roved their curious oculi over Burns. They hobbled slowly through the lobby, Burns clutching desperately at Daniels with one hand as he held a besotted cloth to his mouth with the other, trying to stem the tide of saliva due to his absent tongue. The hand he grasped was attached to Daniels's bullet wound-addled arm, and Daniels had to grit his teeth as a sudden rush of pain surged through it when Burns locked his clammy palm around it. Daniels patted the top of his hand gently. "It's alright, buddy. We're almost there," he said reassuringly.

Burns became noticeably stiff and anxious as they ascended a small flight of stairs to their floor, afraid that he would lose his balance from being so disoriented without the little sight he used to have. Daniels summoned all his strength despite the searing agony in his arm, effectively pulling Burns up the stairs until their feet were once more on level ground. Henderson had gone, off to inquire about passage out of Egypt, out of Africa, back west to their beloved frontier ranches in east Texas. It left just the two of them, at the moment, with themselves as their only support. The walk to the quarters was blessedly short, and both men heaved massive sighs of relief when they finally made it to the room.

Daniels locked the door and guided Burns over to a small settee near the center of the room, sitting down heavily beside him. He grunted loudly when the hilt of one of his Colt revolvers dug painfully into his hip, prompting Burns to turn a startled look on the older man.

"Don't worry, jus' the Goddamn gun," Daniels mumbled, correcting the firearm in its holster. "Here, let's get 'em covered up with a fresh bandage, don't ya think?" He jumped up from his seat and searched for a suitable bandage to hide those soulless, haunting caverns where his friend's soft blue irises used to occupy. A small mercy, not just for Burns but for himself. His search turned up a weathered, hotel-provided first aid kit with a frayed roll of flimsy, slipshod gauze and a nearly drained antiseptic bottle that he emptied onto the dressing. _It'll have to do,_ he thought to himself. He was still thoroughly stymied though for a solution regarding Burns's missing tongue.

And yet, Daniels couldn't help but think to himself as he folded the cheap gauze into a suitable dressing: Without his tongue, what was the point in eating anymore? No more of that delightful sense of taste that accompanied the savoring of a world class meal would grace him. His countenance went sullen. _Life's 'lil pleasures gone, jus' like that._ Masticating in a mechanical, listless way with a mouth devoid of flavors would be the only way Burns would be able to enjoy food of any kind now.

 _Food._ Daniels groaned inwardly, letting out a pained breath when the sharp dagger of hunger suddenly ripped its way through his gut. Ignoring the pangs of his empty stomach had been easy up until now. Fleeing across the vast desert back to Cairo and worrying himself sick over his debilitated friend had consumed him, the needs of his body being willfully set aside so that he could concentrate more on the dangers ahead of him. Despite the ever growing rumbling in his belly, he remained dedicated fiercely to watching over his ailing companion. _I ain't goin' nowhere, that's a promise._

He stood behind Burns as he carefully wrapped the gauze about his head. Hands used to cradling the necks of Shenandoah Straight bottles and being balled into enraged fists were now shaking as he unsteadily but gently tied the dressing off.

Burns pulled at it weakly in an attempt to fit it comfortably over his empty orbitals, sounds of pure frustration staggering their way limply from his mouth.

"Don't go gettin' yerself all flustered over nothin'," Daniels chided firmly, but the regret came instantly.

Burns dropped his head into his hands, thin shoulders shuddering, rigid fingers tangled in the chestnut sheen of his sweaty hair. The sob that erupted from his throat came out loud and broken, an errant animal that had been waiting for the opportune moment to escape its cage. Then the hoarse words came. "Hard... ish sho hard, Dave..."

 _Oh God, I need some air._ Daniels could hardly bare it, sprung to his feet and marched over to the sill and threw open the faded wooden panels and filmy glass of the double windows. The light of the sun had dimmed, thin and yellow like the paper lanterns he strung around his porch awning and banisters during the Winter holidays. There was no warmth though, only rays so cruel that they barely stretched far enough to hit the shadowy curves of his pale face.

"I know, Bernie. I know."

He turned around to see Burns groping frantically in the air, across the settee. Seeking out that hand he so desperately clung to for comfort. Staring blindly through the dressing over those soulless holes. "Dave...?"

Burns relaxed when he felt the older man's presence sitting beside him, tense, calloused fingers wrapping themselves around Burns's scouring hand. _Ice, Goddamn hand feels like ice._ The blood thrumming through Daniels's veins shuddered at how deathly cold the flesh felt.

"Thish...thish ish the end of the road for me, ishn't it?" Compressed, scared words that barely made it past his trembling lips.

"The hell you say that fer, Bernard? We're goin' home. This place'll be nothin' but a bad dream soon enough."

Burns shook his head, dismal and faint-hearted. "I don't want to live like thish though."

Daniels's jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it. "We're gettin' you help, ya hear? You'll be fine. Jus' think a'goin' home." Yet they were words spoken that he didn't believe himself. Is _he really beyond helpin'?_

"She...she'll leave me, Dave." The thin shoulders slumped, the makings of another sob threatening to break free.

Daniels placed a sympathetic hand upon those shoulders, his tone of voice noticeably softer than it was mere moments ago. "No Bernie, Casey wouldn't think a'that."

But Daniels couldn't keep his mind from wandering into that inevitable place now, flickering images of his own fiancée Grace flooding his conscience that he had tried so hard to suppress. He remembered the look on her flushed face, tears streaming down it like watercolors on a palette. She was so distraught, hugging her middle tightly as if she was beset by a painful cramp. The fresh creases in her heather-grey dress became visible as he took her hands in his, pulling them close to him as her lips struggled to form words. Something to tell him, but she just couldn't. The way she clutched at her womb, tears soaking the floorboards as they fell down the smooth arcs of her cheeks. _No, it ain't that. She woulda told me._ His neck went clammy, icy sweat trickling down his temple. Feeling his throat close up, he shook the thought from his mind and refocused on his friend.

"We'll be gittin' our hides outta here soon, just you wait. In no time, I'll be back with Grace an' you'll be back with Miss Casey."

Burns looked over to Daniels again, but this time somewhat timidly. The vision struck him hard in the gut once more. _Those damned empty, soulless sockets._ Daniels swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the dressing around his friend's head.

"You heard me. You'll see her again."

"I hope sho."

Silence. Daniels thought he'd go mad from how intensely quiet they suddenly both became. There was only breathing, harsh and shallow, the product of the dull, metronome thudding of his heart, a hollow, dead thing inside him. His stomach grumbled again. _Madness_.

"Can I get ya anythin', pal?" Daniels asked quietly. "Maybe somethin' to drink?" _Say yes, I need to get outta this Goddamn room._

Words that Daniels didn't want to hear. "No, thansh."

"D'ya think you can wait here while I get somethin'?"

The pain center in Daniels's brain lit up instantly when Burns squeezed frantically at his wounded arm, the stars flashing like Chinese fireworks before his eyes. "No! Pleash, shtay."

"It's jus' downstairs, Bernard. I ain't goin' far."

"Jush wait for Hendershon." The bandaged orbitals stared pleadingly at him, the haunting vision of their dark vacancy returning. " _Pleash_."

Daniels hadn't the heart for a rebuttal. _He's terrified, ya dumb goney. Whaddya expect?_ Obliging the injured man was all he could do, was all that Burns wanted him to do. And who could blame him? Daniels felt his heart shudder in his chest. _I wouldn't wanna be alone when that...that_ thing _comes lookin' fer the rest of us._ "Alright Bernard, I'll stay."

He squeezed Burns's shoulder gently, felt the taut knots in it separating, the erratic breathing beginning to even out in those panicked lungs. "Thank you," came the quaking whisper.

And how Daniels wished he could've seen the glint of gratitude that would've graced his friend's eyes, instead of staring at that damned dressing on his head.

Hiding those soulless, empty sockets.


End file.
